Zoids: Revolution Rising
by NeoAurora
Summary: Sequel to Sky's the Limit: Revolution. It's his only objective - Free Fiona. With Fiona entrapped within her mind, Van will stop at nothing to unlocking the secret to freeing her. All the while, however, the red organoid Ambient still lurks with a lethal vendetta that threatens the very existence of humanity upon Zi. The fight is not over. It's just beginning.
1. The Interrogation

**ZOIDS: **

**REVOLUTION RISING**

**ゾイド革命ライジング**

* * *

** I**

THE INTERROGATION

尋問

A heavy, onyx door with peeling paint opened with a squealing creak, flowing in a blast of hard light against a slim silhouette. The air was musty, pungent with the overwhelming musk of maleness, disinfectant wash, and some air freshener that was steadily losing the fight with every passing second.

The door closed, locks clicking into the place with an echo. Shoes resonated against the concrete floor as the walker was guided the solitary overhead light that casted just enough light to make out a square table in the center.

"Lights." The voice was commanding, holding just between serenity and hostility.

Rows of light fixtures systematically winked on, swarming the room in intense rays. The sudden explosion of light flashed into the eyes of a prisoner sitting at the table. He grimaced, holding his bound hands over his eyes that were pinched shut. As they adjusted, the prisoner eased his eyes open in the softening light. He brought his hands down, readily being instantly drawn to a man standing before him. The man was moderate in height, fit in build, and relatively aged in appearance. His cold blue eyes scrutinized the prisoner with the upmost repulsion. The prisoner sighed and shifted in chair was too small for his considerable size; it was going to be a long day.

The man unslung a folder from underneath his right arm, letting it fall on the table with a _slap_ against the metal. He removed his dark overcoat and hung it on the back of his chair before pulling it back to sit down.

"I'm Epps. Anti-Terror Intelligence for the Zoids Battle Commission."

The prisoner glanced down at his bound hands for a second, flicking imaginary dust from his thumb as he looked up. "You certainly aren't the first. Look, I've already cooperated with you people."

"Your _cooperation _is the only thing keeping you alive." Epps felt he didn't need to remind the prisoner of that. It was beyond obvious, even though the murderer didn't deserve the very life he was gifted. Talking to the man felt like a breach in policy in itself. He took in a deep breath, exhaling just as heavily. He looked the prisoner over, examining the healing bruises against his cheek. His lip was partially busted, swelling just a taste. It appeared fairly fresh, just a couple days' old. He was definitely starting to look the part. "Fitting in okay?"

"You should see the other guy," the prisoner replied in a subtle laugh.

Epps grunted, revolted. "You mean the guy you put in the infirmary with kidney failure and a crushed larynx? His recovery is doubtful. You spent two weeks in isolation for that little skirmish."

The prisoner shrugged, unfazed. "I defended myself. He started the fight."

"And you definitely finished it," Epps commented.

"I doubt you're here to discuss a prison brawl," the prisoner sighed. "Either start talking or allow me to get back to my cell."

Epps's eyes shifted to the folder. He unclicked the latch that held the folder together, opening its contents. "Then let's get down to business." Epps set an audio recorder atop the rusting table and clicked the record button with his thumb. "State your name for the record."

The prisoner leaned back in his chair, propping his elbow against the backrest. "Dr. Laon."

"Let the record state that prisoner 7824-D of Stonereach Maximum Security Prison is Dr. Laon, Chief Scientist of the terrorist organization known as the Backdraft Group." Epps drew the first sheet from the folder. "Let's talk about August 3rd of last year. You should be familiar with that date. At approximately 10:49 am, the Backdraft Group launched an unexpected terrorist attack on Capital City in an unsuccessful effort to overthrow the Zoids Battle Commission." He looked up at Laon. "Am I correct so far?"

Dr. Laon grunted. Life couldn't get much worse than it was now. He had nothing to lose up to this point, so why fight against desire to do so? "That's right."

Epps kept his composure. There was a nonchalant attitude about the scientist, as if he didn't care what he had been an accessory to. It disgusted him. All terrorist like him should be lined up and shot; but what would _that _solve? Wars were fought differently now. In this day and age, intelligence was just as important as manpower. Why kill your enemy when you could potentially learn from them instead? Dr. Laon _was _that enemy.

"Let's start from the beginning. April 29th. You were admitted to Dawnbreak Memorial Hospital's detention medical bay following the attack of the Royal Cup. You were to be sentenced once cleared by the staff. That never happened, though, did it?"

"You have all the answers in your little folder," Laon started. "There's no need for me to respond."

Epps fiddled with the pen in his right hand, gripping it like a knife. "You speak when I order you to speak, which includes this interrogation. And I don't know if you've noticed, Dr. Laon, but you're a _convicted_ terrorist. If it wasn't for the valuable intel you've provided to the Battle Commission already, we would've never taken the death penalty off the table. That in itself is a blessing in your case. Now, either play ball and answer the questions or be executed the following morning via a firing squad. Yeah, offenders like you don't get the needle. You help us and I guarantee you'll burn a little less in hell with a clear conscience. Are we clear?"

Dr. Laon picked the dirt from under his fingernails with an aggravated expression on his face. Work detail had murdered his cuticles.

Epps slapped the folder shut, grabbed his jacket, and stood up from the table. "I won't waste my time." He turned to leave. "Firing squad had better start from the feet up."

Dr. Laon laughed. "Calm down, Mr. Epps. You can ease the theatrics. I'm willing to play your game."

Epps released his hand from the door's handle and turned to meet the madman's emerald gaze.

"You're certainly more quick tempered than the others," Laon added.

The intelligence agent walked back to the table, nibbling his lower lip in an incensed manner. The man had managed to get under his skin quickly. Epps that that; it meant he's won. Laon was a man that desired control. Epps wouldn't grant him a sliver. If Laon wanted to live to die in prison—which he would—then cooperation was key.

"You jerk me around…"

"And you'll kill me," Laon finished. "Got'cha. Ask your questions."

Epps sat back down, folder open. "April 29th."

Dr. Laon leaned back in the chair, exhaling. "You know what happened. Six days in, the Backdraft—unknown to my knowledge—attacked the hospital and freed me."

"Resulting in the deaths of three Commission guards, several hospital personnel, and dozens more who were injured," inserted Epps. "And you're positive you weren't aware of this scheme?"

"Absolutely," Laon replied. "I was just as surprised as everyone else. I believed the defeat at the Royal Cup ended the Backdraft. You destroyed their satellites, hunted down stragglers, and imprisoned hundreds. There was no reason for me to _expect _a rescue."

Epps paused, glaring at Laon with suspicious eyes. His choice of words was interesting, nonetheless. Most terrorist used possessive terms like "us" and "we" to profess their commitment to their cause; Laon didn't, however. He was a member of the Backdraft, and a serious authority figure as well. So why did he sound so… disassociated?

"For the record, I need to know _why _you joined the Backdraft in the first place. Were you recruited?"

"Yes and no," Laon answered. That was as simple as he could put it. "They reached out to me years ago, but I declined the offer. That was _before _I knew they interfered in unsanctioned Zoids battles. I was tending to… other matters."

Epps scribbled something down on his notepad. "Like?"

Dr. Laon squirmed in his chair. He grimaced for less than a second, but it was long enough for Epps to realize he'd made Laon uncomfortable with the question. Good. Terrorist always prided themselves on being in complete control of themselves and others. The only person that could break them was themselves.

"It's personal," Laon said at last.

"That won't fly, pal," Epps told him. "Privacy went straight out the window the second you became ours. We know more about you than we'd like: likes, dislikes, choices in women, favorite alcoholic drinks; the list goes on. Your life is an open book now." Epps sniffed, practically tasting the pungent smell in the back of his throat. He wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "Would this decline have anything to do with Dr. Steve Toros?"

Laon's head snapped up.

Epps smiled inside. That certainly got his attention. "We have numerous documented occasions where you have personally attacked the Blitz Team, whether alone or with hired mercenaries. All thus attempts failed, but that didn't stop you from trying."

"You're out of your depth," warned Laon. Epps was flirting on his most sensitive of nerves. He'd pushed enough buttons, but now he was playing with fire. Even the _Count _knew not to cross that line.

"I'm exactly in my depth," chuckled Epps. "I know the story – boy likes girl, boy gets friend to write sappy letter, letter gets signed incorrectly, best friend snags girl. Happens every day. You're not the only man who got his girl stolen."

"Watch your mouth," Laon heated. "You had no right to…"

Epps help up his hand. "Don't even. You forfeited your rights when you helped murder millions of innocent lives. That's it, isn't it? You wanted revenge on Toros so bad that you allied yourself with terrorists. A little extreme, if you ask me. Most crazies would just shadow their target, learn their schedule, and murder them in the dead of night. But that's not you, is it? No, you wanted more. You didn't just want to kill Dr. Toros; no, that's _way _too easy. You had to humiliate him, make him feel just as bad as you did before you rub him out. Quite childish, really."

Dr. Laon was on the verge of spitting flames. Every inclination pulled at him to lunge across the table, grab the little prick's neck, and snap. He could practically visualize it. What did he know about his pain? It didn't matter. That was a long time ago, and he had spent enough time in his isolated cell to bury his hatred toward Toros and his treachery. It was behind him now, but that was _before _Toros had slipped through his fingers yet again. He wouldn't accomplish his revenge, not now; and he certainly wouldn't give Epps the satisfaction of giving in to his tactics.

"To answer your question, yes, that was the reason I joined the Backdraft. I wanted Toros's life for what he had done. He stole the life I wanted, the woman I loved. But that's ancient history, just like this interrogation will be if we don't move on. It's none of your business."

Technically, Epps thought, it _was _business; but he wouldn't press, even though he had the incentive to do so. Laon was far from rehabilitation, and Epps imagined he wouldn't be able to stand a few minutes with Dr. Toros without feeling _some _type of animosity. He wouldn't sell him short, though. A torn photograph was found in his personal effects during Epps's research. The material was worn around the edges, but otherwise well preserved despite being ripped in half. Piecing the picture together brought to life an extremely beautiful woman with incredibly lengthy fuchsia-red hair before a cloudless sky. She almost didn't seem real, but running the picture through facial recognition tech confirmed that she was the late wife of Dr. Steve Toros.

Maybe the doctor had changed, but that didn't excuse him from his horrific crimes. He was still largely unrepentant. "Getting back to the hospital break, what happened after they freed you?"

Dr. Laon cleared his throat, thankful that the conversation was taking another path. "I was relocated to their subsidiary base of operation in Mount Iselina. I was unaware the base existed."

"And it was there that the Backdraft planned their resurgence?"

Laon adjusted the restraints, wriggling his wrists to find comfort. "Not immediately, but yes. The Backdraft wanted to end the Zoids Battle Commission, and that called for an extensive operation."

"And what was your role?" Epps questioned further.

"I was just a scientist."

Epps frowned condescendingly at him. Modesty definitely wasn't one of his traits, so there was no reason for him to try. "Yeah, their _chief _scientist." He turned a few pages in the folder. "Was Capital City the primary target?"

Laon met Epps's eyes with furrowed brows. "_You _were the target. Capital City was insurance, a ploy to lure you into a fight you couldn't possibly win. Your mobile headquarters was scheduled for its annual overhaul. We coincided the attack with that. The Ultrasaurus's defenses would be hindered. Startup systems that were shut down would take longer to spin up. Satellite communication, motion sensors, radar—all systems that wouldn't detect the incoming attack. And it worked. So, _any _city would've been the target so long as the Battle Commission was there."

Epps found the rage roiling up inside him again. For a man that wasn't too committed to the Backdraft and their case, he sure sounded like he was proud of what he'd accomplished. There was a cavalier nature in the manner of which he spoke, and it rubbed Epps raw.

"This leads to the Fuzors. When did they come into the picture, or were they in the works all along?"

That seemed to perk the scientist up. Laon rejected his slumped over posture and became ridged. He'd been labeled many things since the Capital City massacre: murderer, terrorist, lunatic, and even soul harbinger by the religious. But at his core, above all else, he was a scientist; and though no one would ever admit it, he was the most brilliant and innovative man of this generation.

"The Fuzors are the peak of my genius. They had long been a pet project of mine, but I never had the complete resources and support to undergo such a monumental task."

"And I'm sure the Backdraft funded this little idea," Epps figured.

"Not at first, no. I pitched them the concept some time before the Royal Cup incident, but the technology just didn't exist at the time. I needed minds just as superior to mine to accomplish it. Such minds weren't available to me, however."

Epps pulled up a sheet of paper. "In a previous interrogation, your concept for the Fuzors was, and I quote, 'the realization of Zoids superior to those of their predecessors in every way achievable. While smaller, these Zoids would perform feats that would dwarf modern accomplishments and open the way to an advanced future unlike anything prior.' If you were a CEO of a Zoids manufacturer, I'd say that even I would be excited by those words. Too bad that isn't the case. Do you still stand by those comments?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Laon said with conviction. "The Fuzors are the future of Zoids."

"The Fuzors are dangerous," Epps highlighted. "Let's get serious. The Fuzors are weapons that you built to defeat the Battle Commission. I admit that the nerds in our science division are awestruck by what you've accomplished, but everyone else—including the survivors of Capital City—knows different."

"Every Zoid can be utilized as a weapon," Laon fired back. "That's what they are, aren't they? From the days of the Ancient Zoidians to our modern era, Zoids have been used primarily as weapons. If think their anything else, then you've diluted yourself into thinking otherwise."

Epps flicked a picture across the table that contained a grainy snapshot of the Matrix Dragon. "Then you made a helluva weapon, Dr. Laon. Congratulations."

Dr. Laon examined the picture in silence. It was quite a weapon, his best one yet. A civilian must've taken the photo. People and their phones, Laon thought. Even in a crisis they couldn't help to press "record." A percentage of the footage from that day alone was captured by civilians. Idiots.

The intelligence agent exhaled and checked his watch. He'd already spent enough time with this scumbag, but he wasn't finished yet. Epps prided himself on being thorough. "Let's talk about the Nexus Operating Visual Assistant, the NOVA artificial intelligence. The software, albeit very degraded, was pulled from each individual Fuzor with the exception of the one you designated 'Fire Phoenix'. You presented this A.I. to the Battle Commission several years ago. Is that correct?"

Laon rolled his eyes. "It is." If there was anything he hated to be reminded of, it was what was about to come out of Epps's mouth.

"That proposal was declined, and for good reason. A remnant of the A.I. was salvaged from the Fuzor Nightwise. What we were able examine, which wasn't much, was that it had been greatly upgraded from the original. What changed?"

Laon wasn't compelled to answer, even if Epps threatened him with death. He didn't have the authority to grant such an order. That type of power came from men considerably higher, and they wouldn't pull the trigger, either. His knowledge was too valuable to them; but Laon would play along.

"It's learning capabilities. I designed the NOVA with the Ultimate X as inspiration, which was once thought to be only a myth. An artificial intelligence with the ability to learn and adapt to its environment and opponent would grant the user a formidable edge. However, when the likes of the Berserk Fury and the Liger Zero were confirmed Ultimate Xs, I went back to the drawing board. My initial design only allowed the A.I. to learn up to a certain point. Why not give it the ability to absorb information infinitely?"

"Which is precisely the problem," Epps grumbled. "It's dangerous and reckless. What if the NOVA learned about its own existence, becoming self-aware? What would stop it from making choices for itself? _That's_ what you hardwired into the Fuzors! Imagine if the Fuzors began to think that they didn't need to take orders from you anymore? They could still be running amuck with a path of destruction behind them."

"You insult my intelligence," Laon scowled. "I very well knew the possibility of the program becoming rogue. It's why I installed a failsafe. Any unauthorized action taken by the Fuzor would've caused their combat system to freeze."  
"Then their 'authorized' actions were flawless." Epps flipped a page so hard in the folder that it almost ripped. "Were the Fuzors the Count's idea or yours?"

"They were mine," Laon said. "The Count just signed off on it, giving me everything I needed for the project. He just wanted to send in an army, overwhelm the Ultrasaurus and take the city. I readjusted his thinking. We stood a better chance with the Fuzors leading the fight."

"You said you were 'just a scientist' earlier." Epps inserted a piece of gum in his mouth. May the spearmint flavor would cancel out the smell. He chewed it slowly. "I find that ludicrous."

Laon sighed. "I was."

"Doubt it. You were more than that. You answered to the Count, your only superior. You outranked officers, organized operations, and led battalions. That tells me you weren't _just_ a scientist." The intelligence officer looked away and read his notes. "You were issued several subordinates, some of which who acted as your primary task force. Last time I checked, our scientists in the Battle Commission aren't privileged enough to have their own soldiers, so let's cut the bull about you being an ordinary scientist. Now, your task force consisted of a Major Polta, whom we have in custody, and three individuals known as Raven, Reese, and Seraph. We have no record of the latter three. Care to fill me in on their whereabouts?"

"I can only assume that two of them are dead," Laon shrugged. "The last, I'm not sure."

"And whom are you referring to, the one you're not sure of?"

The name was out of Dr. Laon's mouth before he realized it. "Raven."

Epps nodded. "And this is the same Raven that killed the acting Count?"

"Yes."

"Y'know, I'd love to track this guy down and talk to him," Epps thought out loud. "No clue about where he might've disappeared to?"

Dr. Laon believed the world would be a better place with Raven _out _of the picture. The man was wholly unpredictable, extremely dangerous, and anti-social. His commitment to the Backdraft should've been called into question the second he was revived. That single gunshot still echoed in Laon's ears.

"I don't know where he is, and I preferably wouldn't mind if I _never _saw him again. He's a traitor."

"Ah, yes," Epps recalled. "He and this Reese person betrayed you, joining the Blitz Team before the attack. I'd call that a positive career change for them. But let's get down to what my superiors _really _want to know from you—the Committee of Seven. We don't know much about them, other than that they're the governing body of the Backdraft with a Count acting as their chieftain. They're quite mysterious, aren't they? We only know as much as what our detainees tell us. For instance, interrogations with Major Polta indicated that 'the Count' was once a member of the Committee of Seven before being appointed. A new number is then plucked from their numerous senior officers to join to fill the slot. Interesting."

"I never met them," Dr. Laon said. "Only a select _few _have authorization to meet with them. You'll be wasting your time trying to find them. They operate under extreme secrecy. That's all I know."

"I believe you."

Laon was caught off guard. Was Epps screwing with him? "You do?"

"In this case, sure," Epps considered. "You may have practically been the Count's second-in-command, but even you weren't _that _high in their rank system. We'll keep looking for them, interviewing as many as we can. Their hands are coated with just as much blood as everyone else. But there's still so much we need from you, Dr. Laon."

"Like what?" Laon was growing impatient. "You've asked me enough questions. What else do you possibly need to know?"

"Well, to name a few: the acquisition of an organoid named Ambient, his involvement, and awakening of what seems to be the most powerful being currently on this planet in an ancient Zoidian."

"Fiona?" Laon said in a hushed tone.

"That's right," Epps confirmed. "It's because of _you _that this girl has tapped into a nature of herself that we would've preferred she kept dormant. Now we have an unconscious Zoidian back in HQ that could snap every _bone _in my body just by _looking _at me."

"She's alive?"

Epps's expression dropped. "What, you thought your little fusion tactic would kill her? I'm sure you realized firsthand just how powerful this girl is, not to mention you amplified that by syncing her with a suicidal organoid." Epps had to laugh to keep from killing the mad scientist. "She alone, coupled with that organoid and _your _Fuzors, could've leveled that city. Do you know how many people died that day, Dr. Laon? I'll tell you…" Epps snatched a sheet from the folder. "… 2.5 million people, and that's _not _including causalities from Backdraft or Battle Commission. Capital City had a population of over 5 million people, and you managed to murder nearly fifty percent of them. That percentage continues to rise as we dig up more bodies. You helped murder millions, Dr. Laon, injured hundreds of thousands more, and managed to displace an entire city and its citizens." Epps clapped his hands slowly. "Well done."

Laon didn't say anything, partly to avoid another monologue from Epps. The figures were staggering when heard out loud. He had heard that the casualties from the attack were substantial and that rebuilding the great city would take decades. They'd practically have to start from scratch—the destruction was too great. The Backdraft would certainly be remembered.

"I have just a few more questions before I end this interview," Epps managed to say through his inward rage. "Van Flyheight made an interesting comment during his debriefing. During his engagement with the Matrix Dragon, he said that the organoid Ambient told him that its purpose was to annihilate the human race from this planet, that we were a disease that needed to be purged. I admit, it sounded quite farfetched when I first heard of it, but I immense respect for Mr. Flyheight and what he's done for the Battle Commission. Were you, in any way, aware that these were the intentions of this organoid?"

Dr. Laon almost laughed, but he figured he wouldn't tap-dance on Epps's nerves now. They were beyond back and forth quips, and Laon could tell by the intelligent agent's concrete face that he wasn't up for games anymore.

"No, I wasn't aware. Ambient wasn't an organoid you have private conversations with. In fact, if I hadn't built a device to control him, he would've tried to kill us."

"And that wasn't a red flag?"

"Not at the time," Laon supposed. "He found us, remember? The organoid was discovered snooping around our facility on Mount Iselina."

"And you didn't find that peculiar than an organoid, an ancient Zoid that, before now, was thought to be extinct, had discovered your classified facility that was thought to be impossible to find? You don't find it strange that he sought you out?"

"We didn't know that!" Laon spat. "It was a shock in itself that another organoid existed outside of the ones we had in stasis. Maybe he honed in on the other organoids we had, I don't know. And yes, I took advantage of the fact he found us. He was extremely difficult to catch, killing several of our soldiers before we successfully obtained him. He was more aggressive than I initially expected, but I certainly didn't know he had an ulterior motive."

Epps grunted. "Okay. When the Matrix Dragon was defeated, Mr. Flyheight told us where Ambient's body could be found. A search of the said area revealed that the body was no longer present. I would assume that means he's still out there. Wouldn't you find that unsettling than an organoid hell-bent on neutralizing humans is still on the loose?"

"Ambient shouldn't have survived," Laon informed. "The amount of energy circulating through his body should've killed both him and Fiona. Even if he's alive and well, who does he have to fulfill his plan? The Backdraft was his only tool, and with them gone, there's no one else. It doesn't matter how powerful a _single _organoid is; he doesn't stand a chance by himself. You of all people should know that _one _organoid with a vendetta can't topple the Battle Commission, let along the people on this planet. He'd need help."

Epps closed the folder and turned off the recorder. He stood up and headed for the exit. "Then I hope to God you're right, Dr. Laon."

* * *

**Neo's Note**: Here we go again! I'm very pleased to return for the second installment to the Sky's the Limit series. This is the official sequel to Sky's the Limit: Revolution. I do hope you're ready for another ride into this exciting universe as I am. Gear up Revolution Rising!


	2. Arrival

**II**

* * *

ARRIVAL

到着

* * *

The cryo-stasis pod yawned opened with a hiss, venting coolant that flowed from the interior like fog. Its occupant laid motionless inside with numerous thin tubes extending from injection points. Dr. D stood close by, accompanied by a pair of technicians in powder blue lab coats and matching surgical masks. They monitored the occupant's vitals, pecking their fingers against the touch-screens of their tablets. The vitals were steady, holding just below normal.

Dr. D synced his tablet with the stasis pod and thumbed a command. The needles slowly retracted from the occupant's skin and snaked back into their housing ports. He crouched low beside the pod, intently scrutinizing the occupant's injection regions with his fingers. Good. There weren't any signs of infection. He checked the body temperature—59.6 degrees. The next step was clear. He nodded to one of the techs.

"Warming gel layer," the tech responded. He brought up the pod's form molding gel and steadily began to raise the temperature several degrees at a time.

The bluish-green gel underneath the occupant lazily began to warm, and Dr. D monitored the screen of his tablet as the temperature went from 62 degrees, 74, 85, and so on until it reached the desired 98.6. The occupant's pale skin began to gradually change.

"Pigmentation reverting to natural complexion," the second tech reported.

"Proceed to next phase," Dr. D told them. "Dim the lights and prepare for reanimation."

The second tech nodded, accessed the lights, and lowered the intensity by fifty perfect. He gave a "thumbs up" gesture to the first tech.

"We're ready for reanimation, doctor," the first tech relayed.

Dr. D exhaled the air from his inflated cheeks. It was such a delicate process, and he had a right to be nervous. This _should've _been done over a year ago under safe, controlled environment; but life had a sadistic way of changing that. The conditions weren't as hostile now, so Dr. D could only assume that the occupant's experience would be positive. "Have sedative in place if we encounter complications."

"Standing by with sedative," the second tech complied. He reached into his right pocket and drew a capped syringe that, if injected, would drop a man in seconds. It was a necessary precaution.

Dr. D took a syringe of his own, removed the cap, and went over to the occupant. He inserted the needle into the right arm and slowly pushed in the reanimation agent before switching his attention to the vitals. The heart rate began to increase rapidly, beating just outside of normal. Blood pressure levels skyrocketed, muscles twitched, and—

—the man in the cryo-stasis pod shot up, taking in a rush of air so strong that he nearly choked. He coughed severely, having to lean over the side of the pod to release the sensation in the back of his throat. A warm fluid traveled up his esophagus and launched out of his mouth, nearly spattering Dr. D's shoes with the white stuff.

The man sucked in another breath of air, coughed twice, and then opened his green eyes. His blurred vision scanned the surroundings, picking out blobs of some type of blue and dull, tiny suns above. He shook his head with a groan, frantically rubbing his eyes. Muffled voices swarmed around him; they were talking about him, saying something about a sedative. Another voice rebuked the suggestion, followed by something clanging against the floor.

The pod's occupant forced his eyes open once again, relieved to know that his vision was clear. He was in a laboratory of some sort, but he couldn't work out the specifics with the lights being so low. To his left were two men in lab coats staring at him with anxious mannerisms. He didn't recognize them. Hostiles? They weren't armed for what the man could see, and it appeared they wouldn't know how to use a gun in the first place. He must've been captured. That's the only solution that fit the situation.

"You're awake."

If there was anything that heightened the confusion, it was that. The man knew that voice. It was uncannily familiar, so much that he could only place it with one man. Was it possible? The man didn't want to look. What if it wasn't who he thought it was? Where would that leave him? That was last thing he needed. He sighed, rejecting to urge to vomit again; his throat was fire. He turned his neck to face where the voice had originated. The man didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified. Dr. D, the eccentric old man, was standing there with a toothy grin.

"Dr. D?" The man's voice was horribly raspy and barely understandable.

Dr. D left his side, walking over to one of the adjacent silver tables to grab a paper cup. Steam curled up from the contents inside. He extended the cup to the pod's occupant. "Here, drink this. It'll restore your vocals. They were stripped in the process."

The man took the cup with great hesitancy. He looked down in the cup at its vibrant green contents, visually repulsed by it. It was then his eyes seemed to drift through the cup and recognize that he was completely naked. He nearly dropped the cup just to cover himself.

"It's okay." Dr. D's tone was uncharacteristically calm and soothing, like a father reassuring his frightened son. It was unsettling to the man. "Drink it."

The man let his guard down. He ingested the hot liquid, grimacing at its bitterness and sour aftertaste. But whatever was inside the drink seemed to repair the damage his molten-like vomit had done to him. He wanted to speak, tried to speak. The only thing that came out was a stammered mess of nothing, He tried again. "Wh…," he cleared his throat. "Where—am—I?"

"We'll get to that," Dr. D dismissed. "But first, we need to run some tests. For starters, do you know your name?"

The man scrunched his face. "Of course I know my name?"

"That's good," Dr. D chuckled. He nodded to the techs. "Jot that down." Turned back to face the man. "I'm glad you know who you are, but now we need to know. Tell us your full name."

The man swallowed and said, "Thomas Richard Schubaltz."

Dr. D's smile grew wider. "Welcome back to the world, Thomas."

Thomas found the words incredibly haunting. "Welcome back? Where have I been?"

"As I said, we'll get to that," Dr. D said. "Can I get you to stand?"

"No," Thomas refused. "Tell me—where have I been? I don't recognize this lab. Is this a Guardian Force black site?"

Dr. D glanced at the techs; they looked back and nodded. He exhaled and placed his hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Thomas, you've been asleep for 1,000 years; technically 1,001 years, but we'll ignore that for now. It's ZAC 3126; and today's date is your birthday, actually."

The first tech—discreetly—pulled a syringe from his coat pocket.

Thomas just sat there for a few minutes without saying anything. He appeared stunned. Dr. D's words seemed to deflate, his expression passing through amazement and shock to the realization of all he had lost. Friends. Family. His world. He faced Dr. D at last. "So, the program worked?"

It was Dr. D who was suddenly stunned this time. From what he understood was that the cryo-stasis process erased short-term memory inside of one to two years. "You actually remember?"

Thomas blinked hard. "It's just fragments. I see myself working. You're there, too. Yeah, we were definitely working on _this _very project. It was me, you, and… _BEEK_. Where's BEEK?"

"I'm not sure," Dr. D frowned. "If I know you, then I'm positive you preserved him some manner."

Thomas ran his hands across his face with a groan, pinching his lips between his index fingers. He felt physically sick, and the roaring pain in the pit of his abdomen didn't help. The sensation to vomit was still there. He guessed it wouldn't be leaving any time soon. His next words came out like instinct. "Is Karl here? I'm assuming he's not."

Dr. D looked at the floor, the universal telltale sign that the inquirer had answered his own question. "No, he's not here. I believe he stayed behind."

Thomas laughed, but there wasn't a shred of humor in it. "That's just like him." He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his bare hand. "I guess its wishful thinking to think we came through with us."

Dr. D didn't expect Thomas to be overly concerned about Karl. The two were never extremely close, but he supposed it was different story when the other would no longer be in the picture. "Karl was an important man. It probably wasn't conducive that he join us. Even at that, I'm sure he'd want you to continue your service without him."

Thomas couldn't imagine Karl ever saying something that… _touching_. In his own way, Thomas would've liked to think that his older brother expressed that he'd miss him. He just hated that he couldn't remember. His stomach roared with a rippling pain. "Ugh, my stomach's killing me."

"It's nothing serious," Dr. D waved off. "You're just hungry. That white fluid your regurgitated, it was a nutrition supplement. It kept you from wasting away over the years, giving everything your body needed to survive. Now that's it's no longer in your system, you'll need to replenish yourself the ole' fashioned way—food."

"I like the sound of that," Thomas laughed.

"Then let's get you out of that pod," Dr. D told him. "Can you stand?"

Thomas swung his stiff legs out of the pod. The techs positioned themselves on either side of him and helped him out. His bare feet touched the cold floor, sending shivers up his body. It felt odd to stand upright, like it wasn't natural. He held onto the technician's shoulders tight.

Dr. D stepped out in front of him. "Let's see if you can walk to me." He stepped back a few feet.

The techs let him go, and Thomas took an unsuccessful step forward. They caught him before he fell. "Easy, easy. Baby steps, Mr. Schubaltz."

Thomas did just so, and it wasn't long before the former Guardian was moving fluidly without assistance. He was soon dressed and subjected to a multitude of tests from the techs—muscle reflexes, vision, blood count, urinalysis, and a mild exercise session to condition him.

After a shower, Thomas settled himself in the scarcely populated cafeteria with Dr. D. A tray of food was pushed in front of him that he readily devoured in a few minutes. Dr. D watched with a pleasant smirk on his face. There was always something about a person stuffing their face that made him feel good. Maybe he was just happy to see Thomas again. He hadn't seen in what felt like just a year, but it was incredibly longer than that.

Thomas finally raised his head from his third tray, gulped down his fourth carton of milk, and happily belched. He sighed, picking at the few spheres of potatoes left in the heavy brown gravy. "I guess I have plenty of questions to ask you."

Dr. D braced. While he'd be elated to answer any question that Thomas put to him, he felt he would've been better suited to answer them a year ago. Not now. "Sure."

"I'm not even sure where to start," Thomas shrugged. "A full millennium has gone by. There are so many things that've probably changed."

"You're right about that," Dr. D nervously chuckled.

"I guess I'll start where you began. You said I've been asleep for an additional year than when I supposed to be awakened. What was the hold up?"

Dr. D had officially lost his appetite. Of all the questions that had to come out of Thomas's mouth, it was that. He didn't even know where to begin to explain. How could be possibly summarize the events that took place while Thomas was—_thankfully_—asleep? Did he need to start with Fiona's kidnapping? No, he couldn't. Thomas always had a _thing _for Fiona. He'd ask how Fiona was doing, which—obviously—she wasn't. He could simply say that they encountered some complications with his stasis-pod. Yes, Thomas would definitely buy that. But then again, that was a lie, and Dr. D wouldn't lie to a trusted friend. "Thomas, a lot has happened while you were asleep. I promise you, when the time is right, I'll fully explain it to you."

Thomas winced; he didn't like the sound of that, or the look on Dr. D's face when he said it. Did something terrible happen? Thomas wouldn't press. "All right, well, I'm positive I wasn't the only one to come through. Who else is here besides us?"

"Pretty much the core group," Dr. D answered with ease. "Van, Fiona, Zeke, Irvine, and Moonbay." Not to mention Raven, Shadow, Reese, and Specula; but Dr. D decided to keep that to himself. Thomas wasn't ready for that. "I do, though, want to know how you remember us working on the program. Loss of short-term memory is one of the side-effects of the cryo-stasis."

Thomas took a bite of a thick piece of turkey, rolling his eyes across the room as he thought. "Well, it's like you said, we lose one to two years of memory. We must've tinkered with this project for what, three or four years before we got it right. I don't remember much else, though. Everything from that point onward is gone. Are there other effects I should be expecting?"

Dr. D rested his arms on the table and pursed his lips. "Mild headaches, mostly. You may experience some disorientation at times. Your brain will take some time to recover."

"What about my memory? Will it ever come back?"

"Sporadically, yes," Dr. D supposed. "It may take months, even years. I've been here for a solid year and still can't recall much. You'll receive fragments every now and then, but even then, it might just be things you're familiar with. Say, for example, you're walking to a destination. You can visualize yourself walking, but you can't really ascertain _where _you're going; you just _know _you're walking. It's like that."

Thomas nodded, still coming to terms with the fact that the world he'd once known as forever gone. _That _was going to be more difficult to deal with than not being able to recall what happened one to two years prior. He would remain positive, though. There were still tons of pleasant and unpleasant memories that he still had. He could see Karl's face as a rare smile ran across it, his exciting times as a Guardian, and fragments of his childhood. He still had _those_. Everything else was simply links in the chain. "So, I'm curious to know what has changed. I've been looking around this place and I haven't seen not one insignia from the Republic or the Empire. Did they consolidate over the years?"

"Something like that." Dr. D was still trying to grasp the new world himself. A year wasn't enough time to become familiar with it. He'd learned what he could from the Blitz Team and books on Zi's recent history. "There's only one government now. It's called the Zoids Battle Commission. They pretty much govern the whole planet, save for a few provinces that either rejected incorporation or their enemies. But, for the most part, the ZBC reigns supreme."

"That'll make some enemies."

Dr. D eased back from the table with a perplexed expression. Thomas probably didn't even recognize how true that statement he just said was. Enemies. Dr. D felt that the word was rather elementary after what happened. "Yeah, you're right about that."

"Is there a war going on?" Thomas asked next.

Dr. D's head snapped up. He couldn't have figured it out already. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm just asking," Thomas said, chuckling lightly at the old man's jumpy reply. Something _really _must've shaken him up. "This Battle Commission is obviously a military of some sort. Plus, everyone I've seen is always wearing a silver ribbon on their uniforms. That supposed to mean something?"

"No, there's no war," Dr. D exhaled. "It's peacetime, actually. From what I've read, there hasn't been a major war since our day. Sure, there have been skirmishes, but never all-out war. And those ribbons signify an event that occurred a while ago." Dr. D hoped he wouldn't ask.

"Peacetime, huh?" For as long as Thomas could remember, Zi had never experienced _true _peace. If it wasn't Prozen and the Deathsaurer, it was the Dark Kaiser and the Ultimate Deathsaurer. Thomas couldn't commit to the idea that this new time was different. There was always someone out there looking to disrupt the peace, or maybe he was just being negative. "They must be doing something right to accomplish that. So, what's next, Dr. D? Do I get some pamphlet instructing me on what I'm supposed to do here? I'd like to catch up with the others, let them know I'm here."

Dr. D stood up from the table and dumped the contents of his tray in the trash. "And you will. You'll be acclimated as well, but we need to head back to the lab for a nap."  
"I'm not four," Thomas laughed.

"No, but frequent rest will quicken your recovery," Dr. D explained. "You'll experience less headaches, prevent further memory loss, and to bring your body up to speed. Your body has gone through a lot, and the last thing you need is to wear it out before it's ready." Van suddenly came to Dr. D's mind. The poor boy had awoken with his life being threatened, he and Fiona both. They never got a chance to be properly acclimated. God, help 'em.

"Okay," Thomas surrendered. "You win."

The two of them finished lunch and returned to the lab. There was small room in the lab's rear that housed a cot and bedding. Dr. D quickly set up the cot, fetching a thick pillow from the chest at the cot's foot. Thomas was standing next to stasis pod, pulling out the duffle bag that was beside it. He unzipped it and rummaged through the contents. His old Guardian Force uniform was inside, including his badge, sidearm, some small gadgets, and a notebook. He picked up the notebook, licked his thumb, and skimmed through the pages. It was full of his handwriting, math algorithms, and sketches. He suspected he kept a log of everything. Good. He'd read it later. As he went to close the notebook, an envelope fluttered out and hit the floor.

"The bed's ready, Thomas," Dr. D called out.

"Just a sec," Thomas said as he picked up the envelope. He opened it, pulling out photograph and himself and Karl. The two of them were standing before their Zoids with Thomas having an incredibly large smile on his face. Karl didn't smile, but rather an acute tug at the corner of his mouth. Thomas smirked and turned the picture over to read the writing on the back:

_Don't forget me, kid_

_ -Karl_

Thomas slipped the picture back into the envelope. "Not a chance." He stuck it in the back of the notebook and walked over into the small room.

Dr. D stepped aside, dimming the lights as he went. "I'll see you in a few hours. We have much to talk about."

Thomas crawled on the cot and meshed his fingers behind his head. "Looking forward to it. This should be exciting! I'm dying to know what I missed."

Dr. D winced, hand inches from the door. He chewed his upper lip and turned to meet Thomas's eyes. "Get some sleep, all right. It's good to have you back, Thomas." He forced a smile and left.


	3. Acceptance

**III**

* * *

**ACCEPTANCE**

**同意**

* * *

Thomas couldn't believe he'd slept that long. You'd think being preserved within a giant freezer for a thousand years would mean you could go a day or so without sleep. He had to be realistic with himself, though. There was no telling what the process had done to his internal clock. He noticed early on that his sense of time had been altered. Maybe it was the time zone. The headaches were more consistent now, bordering on a minor annoyance than anything else. His reflexes were still lethargic; it would take a few more days until he was just right.

Thomas looked around the dark room that opened up into the dimly lit lab. Everything was so quiet, giving Thomas the impression that he was alone. To him, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He imagined Dr. D had sealed off the lab, giving him privacy without disruption.

_Non sense!_

Thomas wasn't about to spend his first few days lying in bed. There was so much work to get done, namely, rebuilding BEEK. Not to mention that he needed to regroup with Van, Ms. Fiona, and the other three that he didn't really _need _to see. The stories that they would have! It would also be interesting to see what had changed over the course of a millennium – the people, the technology, the new government. Thousands of possibilities swirled through his lurching mind. He needed to calm down.

_Compartmentalize._

That's what he needed to do. Form _one _goal at a time, accomplish it, and move on to the next. He couldn't expect to jump back into the swing of things. It didn't work like that, at least not anymore. So where would he start?

Thomas angled his head, starting at the digital clock at his bedside. It was 5:17 am. He'd been resting for seventeen hours since been reanimated. That was _too _long by his standards, but he figured his body used that exorbitant amount time to reboot, repair, and replenish.

He lifted his body up from the cot and stood up, awkwardly stumbling into the file cabinet next to him. His mouth tasted disgustingly salty from the nutritional supplement's aftertaste. It built up in the back of this throat, and the sensation to spit was strong. He flicked on the lights. An overwhelming sense of nausea smothered him the moment the lights flashed in his eyes. The sensation dropped him to his knees. He pulled the nearest trash receptacle that was next to him and vomited inside. The regurgitated mess was the same color was the fluid Dr. D made him drink earlier. It must've been for more than his throat.

Thomas sped through his hygiene, quickly fetching the notebook that he stuff under his pillow. He increased the intensity of the lights, sat on the floor next to his cot, and cracked open the notebook to the first page. The pages had aged surprisingly well for being a millennium old. There was some yellowing, but the handwriting was still legible enough to read. The first few pages dated back to when he was in his late teens. They had yellowed the most, and some of the words had begun to smear. He remembered the jest of it – the mathematical diagrams, the equations, the scribbles of writing; it was all the early developments of BEEK. As interesting as it was to look, it wasn't where his focus was. BEEK would have to wait.

Thomas kept reading, periodically popping breath mints in his mouth to cancel out the foul taste from his vomit. The toothpaste practically didn't do anything. He turned the notebook over, licked his thumb, and went through the latter pages until he found a date he _wasn't _familiar with. He struck gold on the twentieth page from the last:

**Wednesday, March the 30th of ZAC 2124**

_Dr. D and I have completed the __preliminary trials for cryo-stasis pods for Project **BLACK TUNNEL**. Initial results were not positive. Test subjects experienced raw and blistered skin from the freezing effects. There were several cases of frostbite, resulting in the amputation of digits from hands and feet. Dr. D suggest that we limit the about coolant used on the next trial._

* * *

**Thursday, March the 31st of ZAC 2124**

We've begun secondary trials for test subjects. Dialing back the coolant to three fifths has produced "interesting" results. Occupants did not experience skin irritation or damage. However, they awoke earlier than anticipated, which concludes that our chosen sedative must be increased. Enough must be administered to keep the subject asleep until the automated reanimation agent takes affect at the end of the pod's scheduled preservation date. Extended trials will begin tomorrow at 0700 hours. Subjects will be induced for three months' time.

* * *

**Monday, July the 1st of ZAC 2124**

It's been three months and the subjects were awakened at 0700 under the supervision of Dr. D, myself, and Colonel Rob Herman. After nearly 17 hours of observation, the subjects have experienced several side effects. They include extreme nausea, disorientation, hindered motor skills, and most surprisingly, memory loss. This was **NOT **expected as it has presented obstacles we were not prepared for. Dr. D and assisting medical staff have concluded the amount of dosage to keep the subjects asleep affects the cerebrum region of the brain. Upon awakening, the subjects did not recall being placed within the pods… ever!

It appears that they're short-term memory has been wiped prior to the three month experiment. They do not remember working on the latter portions of the project, including the pod tests. One subject became extremely unstable as he couldn't recall why his ring and pinky fingers were amputated from his right hand. Sedation was required. The second subject did not exhibit any signs of instability, but was very confused and didn't recall his involvement in the program. He'd been used prior for the past six months! This is an unexpected roadblock.

Aside from memory loss, there were no other adverse side effects. Another key note is that subjects induced will not age. This is due to the coolant and stasis field built into the pods. Subjects would not survive projected timetable if the aging process is not hindered. That covered, more tests will be conducted concerning the solution to memory loss.

* * *

**Tuesday, July the 14th of ZAC 2124**

Okay, tests show that the memory loss is, for the moment, permanent. Subjects have been intensely tested for two weeks without success. All memory, specifically three and a half months, have been cleaned from the subject's memory. There is no telling if the memory will return, but this exhibits a major flaw in the technology. We're running out of time. The rebellion is getting worse, and it's only going to be a matter of before they reach the city. The main candidates **MUST **be prepped for stasis-pod entry by the end of this current year. We can't wait any longer. The fearis that the candidates, upon rising for prolonged slumber, will suffer significant memory loss. Exact figures are not known, but candidates stand to lose 2 to 5 **_years _**prior to being induced. This presents an extreme issue that we might not have time to resolve.

* * *

Thomas flipped through the next few pages, his mind reeling. He'd have to suppress his questions later. He had to know what happened next, popped another mint.

**Friday, September 6th of ZAC 2125**

This will be my last entry. It's happened! The rebels have breached the city. Republican and Guardian Force pilots have been deployed to deal with the threat. It's our fault; we've cut it too close. All solutions to prevent memory loss have failed. We have no choice. Candidates Lieutenant Van Flyheight, Lieutenant Thomas R. Schubaltz, "Elisi Linette" Fiona, Irvine, Moonbay, Dr. D, and the organoid Zeke will have to enter the cryo-stasis pods ASAP. The pods will be set to reanimate candidates in exactly 1,000 years. By then, enough time will have passed until this rebellion is resolved. We cannot win this, and the enemy will continue their onslaught until they succeed in the capture of the ancient Zoidian Fiona. Running is not an option, fighting is not an option. This is a last resort, and we're taking it.

I am Thomas Richard Schubaltz, and I'm writing this to myself. In the likelihood that my memory is compromised, I'm to read these notes and begin rebuilding whatever is left. I should not feel bad when I read this. I've said what has needed to be said to my eldest brother Colonel Karl L. Schubaltz. He will remain here, along with Rob Herman of the Republic, to battle the rebels until all is finished.

**-Thomas R. Schubaltz**

** Lieutenant, Guardian Force**

* * *

Thomas closed the notebook and leaned his head back on the cot. What he felt like he'd been catapulted into the stratosphere without a parachute, feeling his stomach in his throat on the way down until he splattered on the ground. He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled, his breath cool from the multitude of mints. His headache was back, and this time it actually hurt. The images that fired through his mind were obscure at best. He didn't know whether they were real or just projections from his imagination. What was this rebellion that he kept writing about? He tightly shut his eyes, searching for the memories that just weren't there.

The notebook was flung across the lab.

Thomas _hated _that he couldn't remember, he _hated _that Karl wasn't here, he _hated _that everything he'd known was gone, and he was beginning to _hate _this new time. No, he had to step back and remove emotion from the equation. He didn't hate where he was. He was grateful. There was just an undeniable feeling of guilt welling up inside of him. Guilt about abandoning the world he'd know behind when it was trouble, guilt about not forcing Karl to come with them, and guilt for nothing staying behind himself to fight.

Was he really _needed_ here?

He didn't think so, not really. Leaving the former world behind was, from what Thomas read, about Fiona and her safety. Van was more than capable of taking care of her. Christ, the two of them practically shared the same heart! He _should've _stayed with Karl and fought with him. What if he'd died at the hand of these… rebels? Wait… who were these rebels anyway?

Thomas couldn't take it. He needed to get some air before he imploded. If he spent another second in that lab, we would literally tear the place apart in frustration. He got up from the floor and opened the chest that was at the foot of his cot. A few articles of clothing were folded nearly inside: t-shirts, boxer briefs, two pairs of jeans, a fleece, a hoodie, and a heavy winter jacket.

He checked the digital clock/thermometer – 34 degrees; high 40, low 29.

Thomas grabbed the dark navy blue hoodie and slipped it on. The fabric wasn't thick, but at this point, he wouldn't mind the cold. It would numb him. He stepped into a pair of boots, laced them up, and went over to rummage through the duffle bag next to his pod. He eyeballed the pistol for several minutes, contemplating whether or not to take it. There wasn't a need, decided against it. He would give this world the benefit of the doubt, even though no one would look at him twice for carrying a gun; it was, from what he suspected, a military facility. He took the phone instead, powered it on, and stuffed it in his pocket before heading to the door.

The younger Schubaltz barely set his fingertips on the "unlock" icon before the door hissed open. Dr. D stood in the doorway with a tray of covered food in his hands. He nearly lost the whole thing in surprise, dropped the container of orange juice instead. Thomas bent down and picked it up, placing it neatly in the open section of the tray.

"Shucks, you're up early," Dr. D laughed. "I was hoping to slip this in while you were still sleeping."

Thomas fiddled with his hands. "Thanks. I'll eat it later."

Dr. D licked his lips, catching the distress in Thomas's eyes. Something was wrong. He glanced into the back room behind him, notching the disheveled cot and an open notebook lying on the floor several feet away. It wasn't like Thomas to be disorderly. "Is everything okay?"

Thomas stammered, hands still unsure where to go. "I… I just need some air. I can't…"

"It's okay," Dr. D planted a smile. "You don't have to explain. Just let me set the tray down and I'll lead you out. This place is a labyrinth."

"I'll find a way out, thanks." Thomas couldn't wait for Dr. D. He'd want to talk. Sometimes you just didn't feel like talking. Silence was best. He motioned around Dr. D and jogged away down the narrow hall.

"Thomas!" Dr. D called out.

Thomas didn't heed his name being called out. He rounded the next corner, moving away from the RESTRICTED AREA zone he just left. It was wide and spacious and bright, scarcely populated by a few early-morning workers. Some nodded to Thomas with a polite smile, while others were too engrossed in their phones and PDAs too notice. Thomas didn't care either way. He came to the end of the hall that branched out in two directions.

Signs were planted against the walls and up above: **-** ELEVATORS, MEDICAL WING, MEETING ROOM IV; **-** STAIRS, BREAK ROOM, LOGISTICS.

Thomas went left, keeping his gait just below a hurried pace. He wouldn't attract much attention, just a man moving where he needed to go. The elevators were ahead of him now on the left. A few people were already waiting for them, but he blended in with the crowd. The smell of coffee and fabric softener practically bled from every person he stood next to. It made him feel sick, the nausea creeping up again. He held down as the doors opened, pushing his way forward so he could access the button panel. Without much thought, he pressed first floor icon and backed away for the others to come inside.

The group of people crammed inside, requested their floor, and rode in silence. A few them meddled in mundane conversation – the weather, what their day was going to be like, not getting enough sleep; it all crept under Thomas's skin. He didn't know why their voices irritated him. They were just talking, going about their natural morning. He left lost, out of sync. Screaming was his first impulse, screaming and running away.

When the elevator finally pinged at the first floor, he was alone with two other occupants. The doors barely parted before Thomas rushed through them. The lobby broad and spacious, tiled with black, reflective linoleum. ZOIDS BATTLE COMMISSION HEADQUARTERS was built into the wall above the exit doors in large letters that transitioned from silver to bluish silver, and then a dull lavender. Uniformed personnel moved around Thomas like he didn't exist. He didn't want to stand idle for too long. A man standing in the middle of the lobby in a hoodie and sweat pants looked suspicious.

Thomas started walking, breaching the doors and out in the early winter air. It hadn't begun to snow yet, but the air was just as cold with sleek streets and dead trees. He was greeted with a bay, honking boats, and massive skyscrapers that were at his far left. Walking gingerly, he crossed the street was the devoid of traffic for the moment. He was thankful that the headquarters building had its own grounds. The last thing he needed was to be met with a multitude of people and their numerous voices. Aside from distant city noises, fog horns, and occasional vehicle tires crunching over the concrete, it was relatively quiet.

The former lieutenant made it to the benches that lined the bay, deciding to lean against the railing. There were a few people sitting at them, but he didn't bother to look at them. He rested his forearms on the cold railing and looked down into the dark water. The sun was still rising, casting dull light through the cloud cover. Thomas breathed in and out; he didn't realize his heart was beating so fast. It must've been an anxiety attack. He almost laughed at that, finding the whole situation darkly comical. His world was dead, and the only reminders that he had was sitting on the floor back in the lab. Going back and opening that notebook would be hard. What else had he documented that would scare him half to death?

The cool air circulated through his body, but he didn't shiver. There was a solace about the place that he couldn't quite explain if someone ever asked him. It was like an overwhelming calm that washed over him. He doubted there was anything mystical about it. Maybe he just needed to be _outside. _The walls seemed to be closing in on him, trapping. Geez, was this how it was for everyone else coming out of cryo-stasis?

It may have been an hour or so before Thomas decided the flip the hood over his head. The cold was starting to set in; he still remained where he was. He wasn't ready to head back inside, to face Dr. D's questions. Was it strange that he didn't want to be comforted, to be told that everything was going to be okay even though it wasn't? Or maybe everything _was _okay and he was just overreacting? He came here to protect Fiona, but it also gave him a chance to start anew. For so long he'd only known war and conflict. How he would deal with peacetime was beyond him. He supposed the Battle Commission had a job for him, otherwise he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Thomas sighed and hung his head low.

"I've had that feeling many times before."

The voice came up behind Thomas before someone stood beside him. Thomas kept his eyes straight, the hood obscuring his peripheral vision. Great, this was the last thing he needed. Dr. D must've sent some shrink to talk to him.

"It gets easier," the voice added. "What you're feeling will pass."

Thomas vented a humorless laugh, visible breath curling from his lips. "No offense, but I'd rather be alone right now."

"That'll pass, too." The stranger interlocked his gloved fingers and hung them over the railing. "I know how you're feeling. You—"

"I doubt that," Thomas said in a condescending tone. "You don't even know who I am or what's going on in my head."

"You'd be surprised," the stranger laughed. "Thomas Richard Schubaltz of the Guardian Force. You still think your BEEK is better than my organoid?"

Thomas's expression dropped. He pulled up from the railing, apprehensive to face the originator's voice. Was it really him? Thomas ignored the churning sensation in his gut, removed his hood, and turned to face the stranger.

Van Flyheight stood there with a boyish smirk on his face.

Thomas's mouth fell open. Those dark eyes that only belonged to one person stared back at him in silence. For the first time since ever meeting the man, Thomas was at a loss for words. His throat suddenly felt dry. "Van?"

"I certainly hope so," Van grinned. "No one else better be walking around with this face."

Thomas couldn't process it. He didn't understand why. Dr. D told him that Van and a few others had come through with him, so why was he having difficulty accepting that. It just didn't seem real, Van didn't seem real. He was different somehow; Thomas couldn't place it. Van certainly _looked _the same, but there was something about his demeanor that was… off.

"Dr. D said you were awake, but he wanted us to wait at least 24 hours before we caught up," Van explained. He nudged Thomas with his fist. "It's great to see you again, Thomas."

Thomas blinked rapidly. "Yeah… yeah, good to see you." He turned back to face the bay. "I'm sorry; I'm just having a hard time believing you're actually here. You feel so alone waking up, y'know? Did you feel the same way?"

Van could only chuckle through his nose. "Yeah, I felt the same way." He decided to forgo the details of his reanimation. Thomas would need to take everything in in stages, not all at once like he did. "Look, the important thing is that you're here. I dare say that I missed you."

Thomas belched out in laughter. "Not a chance!" The laughter quickly faded, toning down into a vanishing smile. His face steeled and met Van's eyes. "You said it gets easier. Is that true?"

Van touched Thomas's shoulder. There was a tenderness to it, a reassurance. He wouldn't lie. "Yes. Maybe not at first, but you'll know when it comes."

"You and Fiona – how did you cope?"

Van's eyes veered away from Thomas's face. His hand dropped from his shoulder as he turned to stare aimlessly out into New Helic Bay. The question felt like it hit him in the gut. He was still trying to cope; and Fiona, well, she'd yet to begin coping. She never had a chance, really. _Keep it to yourself, Van. You can tell Thomas when he's ready. _"It's a process. Sometimes it's easier for others. It's all about acceptance. But you're not alone in this, Thomas. You've got us. C'mon—" Van eased Thomas around and gestured toward the building. "Let's get inside and get warm. Everybody's waitin' for ya."

Thomas sighed in surrender. "Yeah, sure." He playfully jabbed Van in his ribs. "You guys better have a good reason for leaving me in that freeze for an extra year."

Van scratched a non-existent itch behind his head with a laugh. "Yeah, that one'll knock your socks off." He looked away from Thomas, smile dropping. _I just hope you're ready for it._


	4. The Briefing

**IV**

—**THE ****BRIEFING**—

_ブリーフィング_

* * *

Van was hesitant. He'd slowed his pace considerably since leading Thomas back into the building, taking every opportunity to delay the inevitable. He and Thomas had exchanged some small talk, generic stuff one would conjure up while waiting in a doctor's office. Van told Thomas that all of his questions would be answered in a few moments, but that certainly didn't stop the younger Schubaltz from inquiring about subjects that had a story in themselves. Van was biding his time, just waiting for Thomas to ask him personal questions that he wasn't ready for. He was surprised that he hadn't asked where Fiona was yet. The man was surprisingly in a pleasant mood, despite recovering from an anxiety attack an hour earlier. That was just an appetizer. Thomas's world was about to come tumbling down… again.

Van reached the end of the empty hall, hearing nothing but the hum of the A/C and the collected clanking of their boots. A set of dull green double doors were set in front of them with vertical rectangular windows on their faces. He anxiously flexed his hands at his side, glancing over his shoulder to look at Thomas. "Y'know, everything's going to change once you go through these doors… for everyone?"

"I know that." Thomas understood that much. He wasn't an idiot; he was just off-put by Van's reaction. He'd never seen him so apprehensive before. What could be so troubling that had both Van _and _Dr. D so evasive? And what was with all those annoying ribbons pinned to every uniform the building? "I need to be brought up to speed, Van. I've missed a lot. Unless we're talking about nuclear fallout in our immediate future, then I think I'll be all right."

Van took the dangling keycard that hung from his neck and swiped it through the reader next to the doors. "Then let's get you brought up to speed."

The doors unclicked and swung open. Van stepped aside and let Thomas walk in first before closing the doors behind them. The space beyond the doors was another world for Thomas. It appeared entirely separated from the governmental vibe that shrouded the rest of the building. The room was like an apartment with rooms sectioned off by a thin, single standing wall. An impressive kitchen was set off to the left in a horizontal L-shape with an island in its center. The living room sunk into the floor like a soup bowl, having rounded, cream-colored sofas at the bottom. Stairs led up to the second level with a railed walkway that overlooked the living room. Several bedroom doors lined up the upstairs with names etched into the wood that Thomas couldn't make out.

There was commotion around the corner, laughter and quips that Thomas recognized. He stopping, holding his hand up against the wall. The voices were distinct, belonging to old acquaintances that made his stomach flip.

_Why is this so hard? You know them, fought with them. They're your allies._

Van touched his shoulder again, that tenderness still evident. With a gentle push, he eased Thomas around the corner where Irvine and Moonbay were. They were hunched over a wet bar half empty beers in front of them. Zeke was towered over them both, standing behind the war with a cocktail umbrella between his teeth that he toyed with.

_Wait, is that even Zeke_?

The organoid looked _nothing _like he did before. His features were more ridged and dragon-like. He was more threatening, an organoid that was be feared. If it wasn't for his mannerisms, Thomas would've thought that Zeke was an entirely different organoid. There was another person as well, but Thomas didn't know him. He was leaning against the wall near Irvine in a black, slim-cut suit with an unbuttoned white shirt at the top. His hair was dark and short with light brown eyes and dimples. He laughed at something Irvine said, taking a quick swig from his water bottle before his eyes spotted Thomas.

Van noticed this, cutting the man off at the path before he said anything. "Look who's awake!"

Irvine and Moonbay turned their necks to see, taken aback by Thomas standing there next to Van.

Irvine coughed up some of his beer, nearly choking on it. Even though Dr. D had alerted them ahead of time that Thomas was selected to be reanimated, it was still didn't seem quite real. Irvine had accepted the fact that everyone he knew prior existence was long dead and ashes in their graves. Seeing Thomas before him was like reaching back in time.

"Holy hell." Irvine stepped down from the stool. "The nerd's back. You thawed well enough."

Thomas pursed his lips. "Very funny." Irvine hadn't changed in the slightest, which was a _severe _disappointment. He still sported that ridiculous optical eye-patch and unkempt hairstyle. A mercenary can only look so professional. Thomas guessed he would have to lower his expectations, thinking that everyone would've drastically changed somehow. "You're still a cyclops, I see." He analyzed Irvine's brown leather jacket, dark jeans, and work boots. "And you've learn to dress properly. I'm very much impressed."

Irvine cleared his throat, nothing to retort.

Moonbay slapped the bar with her fist in hysterical laughter. She raised her beer to Thomas. "And the square has removed his edges. Well done." She hopped down from the stool and went over to personally shake his hand. "Welcome back, poindexter!"

Thomas sighed and allowed the insult to pass. There was no point of engaging in back and forth quips with them; he'd always lose. Moonbay had retained her personality to Thomas's dismay, but her appearance had changed. Her dark hair wasn't worn in multiple braids, but hung just below her shoulders in soft curls. There was also a healing surgical scar on the underside of her left arm.

_That certainly wasn't always there. I wonder why?_

"Thomas, there's someone else you should meet," Van pointed with his thumb to the black suited man walking over.

Thomas braced, fists clenched.

The suited man extended his hand to Thomas. "I'm Aiko Xavier, Defense Chief of the Zoids Battle Commission. It's an honor to finally to meet you."

Thomas, reluctantly, took Xavier's hand and shook it. "Yeah, nice to meet you as well." The Defense Chief? Thomas found it odd he was meeting a man of such a title.

"In behalf of the Chairman, I'd like to welcome you. I read your file. It's great to have another Guardian with us."

Thomas wasn't expecting royal treatment, especially not from the Head of Defense or this Chairman that he spoke up. He was waiting for the punchline, for Irvine or Moonbay to burst into laughter and reveal an elaborate practical joke. They weren't laughing, though. Before he walked in, the three of them were laughing and having drinks. What had happened for them to be that _relaxed _around a person like Xavier? They never once saluted or called him 'sir'. Strange.

"We're just waiting for Dr. D and then we can get started," Xavier made known.

Thomas wrinkled his forehead. "Waiting for what?"

Zeke stomped around the bar and plopped his head on Thomas's shoulder with his raspy growl.

Thomas flinched, still unnerved by Zeke's appearance. He patted the organoid on the snout like he was unwary of a large dog.

"We promised that we'd fill you in on what you've missed," Van clarified. "That's we're going to do."

"Including why your organoid looks like he's about sprout wings and burn a village down?" Thomas asked.

Van nodded. "Yep."

"About time…" Thomas trailed, scanning the room like he'd never seen it before. He looked at each individual for less than a second before meeting Van's eyes. "Where is Ms. Fiona?"

The room fell silent, and everyone's eyes—including Xavier's—went to the floor.

Thomas didn't like that. He knew something was up. Wherever Van was, Fiona wasn't too far behind. She wasn't there when he woke up, she wasn't there when Van met him outside, and she wasn't with them now. Unless she was _incredibly _occupied, something was wrong. "Is Ms. Fiona okay? Did something happen to her? You have to tell me, Van."

Van issued a false smile and put on his reassuring voice that seemed to make everyone around him believe _nothing _was wrong and was to be feared. "She's here, but that's also something we'll discuss."

Thomas wasn't buying Van's vague answer. If she was dead, she could've still been _here_… but in the morgue. He wouldn't jump to conclusions until those very words left Van's mouth. "Okay."

The doors to the room whooshed open. Dr. D came walking around the corner, rubbing what smelled like hand sanitizer on his hands. He appeared drained, like he was dehydrated.

"Sorry I'm late, folks. There was some business I had to attend to." He laughed. "You'd think herbal soup wouldn't do something like that to your gastrointestinal tract, but I suppose I was wrong. Last time I try _that _concoction." He exhaled heavily. "I'm a little weak."

"Dr. D, if we could begin." Xavier moved across the room and stepped down in the living area.

The three of them and Zeke went down into the bowl with Xavier and sat on the curved sofas. They were a pleasant medium between soft and firm, exponentially more comfortable than the cot Thomas had slept on. He was growing anxious by each passing second.

Xavier hadn't said a word since they'd sat down. He was hunched forward, legs apart, and peered into the screen on his phone. His thumbs pecked the screen at an impressive pace before darkening the screen and slipping the phone into his pocket. He looked up; his eyes went straight to Thomas, eyes that were focused and serious. "Mr. Schubaltz, we understand that you've been out of the loop for a very long time. That's understating it, really. A lot has changed. That's why we're here, to fill you in."

Xavier set a manila folder on the oval coffee table and opened it. "I'm sure you're concerned about how you left things. To avoid suspicion, you, along with Mr. Flyheight, were listed as Missing in Action. The cover story is that you were sent on a mission against uprising rebels but failed to return. You were presumed dead. There was a memorial service."

Thomas accepted that. He couldn't have found a more logical reason to explain his disappearance. The Guardian Force had obviously covered their tracks concerning the project. He figured Karl and Herman knew the official story, being sworn to secrecy by the leaders of their respective nations. Still, being listed as MIA and presumed dead was a pill that wasn't easy to swallow. A tidal wave of questions slammed the shoreline of his mind. He narrowed them down, extracting them one by one.

"Aside from that file there, how do you know the specifics? Unless you were there, which I doubt, there's no way you could have accurate documentation of this."

Xavier smiled. He knew he wouldn't be able to slip anything past Thomas. "Ever since the program began, there has always been someone tasked with overseeing your lives. Over the years—over the _centuries—_we've always had the very best personnel to monitor your health, keep your bodies from deteriorating, and transporting your pods to an appropriate location if needed. The Zoids Battle Commission was founded six centuries after you were in cryo-stasis. After the war with the rebels had ended, the Republic and the Empire—"

"Just hold on for a second," Thomas interjected. "There's that word again, 'rebels'. It's been written in my notes. I know because I'm the one that _wrote _it. Who are these rebels? I understand that they forced us into cryo-stasis before we were ready, and they breached a city. That's all I know."

Xavier looked passively at Van, as if asking for permission to continue. He pushed the folder away from himself and leaned back on the sofa. Xavier never liked briefings, whether he was giving or receiving. The ones that asked additional questions to the information usually didn't like the answers they got. But Thomas was a soldier, a Guardian; he was no stranger to warfare and didn't appear put-off by it. There wasn't any need to hold back from him.

"What you're talking about happened well before my time, Mr. Schubaltz. "I wasn't there, but all of you were. I'll let Dr. D explain everything."

Dr. D retrieved his PDA, accessed a file, and tilted the device to landscape mode as the video loaded on the screen. He handed the phone to Thomas with caution.

Thomas cupped the phone in his hands, watching a compilation of clips that depicted gruesome footage of battles taken from news reports, pilot-cams, security cameras, and other visual sources. Various species of Zoids fought viciously, some marked with their respective nations and some that were not. A clip between a battling Command Wolf and Sabre Tiger cut out to show an aerial view of a besieged city that Thomas didn't recognize.

"_That_, Mr. Schubaltz," Dr. D started, "was the rebellion." He took the PDA back. "With some help from my notes and the Battle Commission's archives, I was able to piece together what happened. Six years after you and Van dispatched this Hiltz and his apocalyptic Zoids, a faction rose up against the then Republic and Empire. They were a small terrorist group made up of deactivated members from a previously defeated organization known as Terra Geist. These members came together to create the Anti-Coalition Federation, or ACF. Our leaders back then still don't know how they came to power without their knowledge. They rose fast, making a name for themselves across the Western Continent of Europa. From there, they spread south to the Elemia Peninsula. They attacked every known Republican and Imperial bases and camps on sight, slaughtering thousands. Is any of this making sense to you?"

Thomas closed his eyes with raised eyebrows and shook his head. "No, but it sounds familiar. I feel like I _should _remember, but nothing's coming to mind." He turned to Van. "Was that the same for you?"

"Pretty much," Van concurred. "I get fragments sometimes of me fighting, running… That's all, though. There's nothing I can specifically link it to, I'm afraid."

"I know it's aggravating that you're unable to recall these events, but I assure you that we'll try our best to answer your questions, Thomas," Xavier informed.

Thomas doubted that.

"Anyway," Dr. D continued, "the ACF clearly made their intentions known. Their aim was to obliterate both nations and rise to power as a single government over Zi. Typical terrorist objective, right? Well, you'd be wrong. The rebel Federation, albeit small compared to the might of the governments they were fighting, inflicted _serious _damage. Their attacks weren't limited to merely killing, no; they went after the political officials, the governmental economy, and even the leaders of those nations. A high-point in their rebellion was when they kidnapped President Louise Camford while she was returning from a meeting. They later executed her, subsequently hanging her body on a Republican flagpole." Dr. D took a breath to gather himself. He cleared his throat. "I'm sure that was a difficult day for all of us."  
Thomas couldn't believe what he was hearing. In his notebook back in the lab, the simple word "rebels" that he'd written down had catapulted in power and devastation. These rebels had murdered President Camford, the mother of Colonel Herman. He must've been devastated. Thomas had a fleeting thought that he was glad he couldn't remember what happened. On the other hand, he wished he could reach back in his memories to know whether not Colonel Herman found solace. He couldn't imagine that he did.

"To make a long story short, the Guardian Force was heavily involved after the President's death. We fought back, Thomas, winning here and there. It wouldn't last, I'm afraid. What I'm about to tell you isn't recorded in the Battle Commission's archives, but _only _in the notes I kept to remind myself of our final days. I actually have it dated here—" Dr. D flipped through his own notebook that he brought with him. He stopped after turning an extra five pages. "Ah, here—December 18th of 2120! A splinter team from the rebels attacked one of the Guardian facilities. A lot of people died, including Captain O'Connell. But it was in that attack when it happened."

"When what happened?" Thomas asked, sitting on the edge of suspense.

Dr. D glanced at Van. "Would you like to tell him?"

Van's face reacted contrary to what Dr. D had asked him. He swept his eyes across Irvine and Moonbay, swallowed, and finally marked Thomas. "When the rebels discovered Fiona's powers."

Thomas twisted his mouth with big eyes. Fiona's powers? He only knew of the woman's uncanny ability to smell water from incredible distances and to recall memories and the memories of others by just _touching _something. Other than that, what else abilities could she have? "You mind telling me what these… powers are?"

"Fiona is a somatic telepath, Thomas," Van revealed to him. "She has the ability to tap into an individual's body and either harm or heal you. Also, she can absorb energy, releasing it in an amplified fashion. I don't remember how it happened, but Dr. D recorded what happened. We were attacked, they tried to kill us, and… Fiona fought back with powers she didn't know she possessed."

"And ever since that incident, the rebels sought her out as their primary target," Dr. D added. "They wanted her power, her abilities. It would give them an undeniable edge in their fight."

"This is why the Guardian Force ultimately green-lit Project BLACK TUNNEL," Van chimed in. "We couldn't stop the rebels from coming after her, and Fiona would never be free of them. So, we devised the plan to jump a millennium into the future. I couldn't believe it when Dr. D explained this to me months ago, but it may begin to make sense."

Thomas groaned with his hands over his face. If he had eaten something before this briefing, he was _sure _he would've thrown it up. The nausea was there again, and Thomas was beginning to link the sensation to stress-related issues. He was feeling fine before now. Despite that, it was Fiona that surprised him the most. Who knew that she had such power inside of her, and where did it all come from? Sure, Thomas would've liked to see her in action to fully comprehend her level of strength, but he felt that wouldn't be an intelligent idea. And then there was the irritating feeling that he needed to address.

"Couldn't… couldn't we have fought back? You said that the rebels kept coming after Fiona. I understand that, but weren't we talented enough as Zoids pilots to defeat them. We've tackled far more menacing enemies."

Van leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I've asked myself that same question, Thomas. But the fact of the matter is, we may never know the full severity of the situation. Our memories of those days are gone, probably for good. I don't know how we could've felt, how we reacted. I can only assume that we were so pushed to the brink that we had no other choice. We survived."

"Not all of us," Thomas highlighted with disdain in his voice. "Karl, Herman, O'Connell, President Camford; all of them are dead." He tried to keep it together, but the emotions were beginning to boil over. "They fought and _died _while we were sleeping. Sleeping! We lost everything—our families, our lives. Yeah, we prevented a psychopathic terrorist group from taking Fiona, but did we really have to give up so much? But that doesn't matter anymore. The world has forgotten them, they've forgotten us." He sighed, regrouping. "Did they at least beat them, the rebels?"

"In part," Xavier answered.

Thomas snorted. "What's that supposed to mean? Were they defeated or not?"

"They disappeared," Xavier told him. "Accounts from the rebellion stated that they continued to fight several years after all of you were placed in stasis. But their attacks tapered off, dwindling down to nothing until they suddenly vanished. The Guardian Force suspected that they surrendered, but we of the Battle Commission believe that to be false."

"Why would think that's false?" Thomas asked. "You said it yourself that the Battle Commission wasn't formed until six centuries later. Why would you care about a rebel faction that vanished?"

"Because we believe they came back," Xavier surmised. "While they're no longer known as the Anti-Coalition Federation, it's thought that they returned under the organization known as the Backdraft Group."

"This is where you should pay close attention, Thomas," Van firmly said. He inhaled deeply before exhaling. "It all started a year ago…"

* * *

**Neo's Note:** A little slow, yes; but I guarantee that it'll pick up. Continue to read & review as the story unfolds. Been working hard to bring you guys the best I'm capable of.


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